Early Flight
by smuttykitty
Summary: Walter visits Northstar in the aftermath of Deadly Earnest. Swears, adult themes. Not slash.


Title: Early Morning Breakfast

Author: Smutty Kitty

Archive: Go for it!  
Disclaimers: JP, Walt, Raymonde belong to Marvel. Montreal belongs to Quebec and Canada. In case you were uncertain.  
Author's Notes: This takes place shortly after AF v1 8.

Walter wasn't really sure what had motivated him to go there, but sure enough he had found himself standing outside a closed bistro in Montreal. He reviewed his motivation, he supposed he was here because he felt bad. Bad for Jean-Paul. No matter what a brat he was, he thought. Anyone who just had the past few days he had might need someone. Regardless of any commentary to a different effect by certain unnamed others.

Aurora had arrived in a huff, flying back to Vancouver after a stellar blowout with her twin brother. She relayed the whole bizarre affair with "Deadly Earnest" and explained how Raymonde was dead. The whole thing made him wonder about her. Who would leave their brother alone with yet another dead parent-figure. Walter and Jean-Paul were hardly best friends, but he was quite aware of his tragic past. It made Aurora seem more callous than Walter wanted to admit. He was quite taken with her and didn't want it to fall apart just yet. Sometimes he wondered about her though, all the same.

He had been standing in front of the building for 10 minutes now, it was really time to go in. He was getting cold standing around under the autumn sun. And since he had bought a flight here (which certainly wasn't going to be reimbursed) he had better do what he came to do. Which was what exactly? Try and comfort a person he barely knew?

The door was unlocked. He opened it and walked in, the bells tied to the handle announcing his entrance. He could hear sounds of life from upstairs. He presumed that the upstairs apartment went with the previous owner of the restaurant. He walked further in, taking in the sense of finality in the room. The chairs were all put up on the tables, the bar mostly cleaned out except for what appeared to be personal collection. Any evidence of the kind of restaurant it had been was gone.

In the back was the stairwell that went up to the living space. He eyed its narrowness warily, and heard more noise. Sad noises. Like someone's heart was breaking. It was hard to reconcile the feisty, almost obtusely argumentative Jean-Paul with crying, or really any feeling that wasn't rooted in anger and hostility.

"Jean-Paul, it's Walter. Dr. Langowski." The big man yelled up the stairs. He felt stupid immediately. He was pretty confident Jean-Paul knew who he was without a full name introduction.

No answer. He didn't really want to go barging up there, but at the same time he came all the way across this huge country to come and offer something to the person up there. He decided to simply go up there and he would bumble through the rest.

The upstairs flat was airy and bright, but the smell and feel of housebound permeated it, accentuated by the closed drapes on almost every window. A sharp left at the top of the stairs brought him to the bathroom, the only seemingly occupied room. He pushed open the door and said its occupant's name. Walter was undeniably moved and disturbed by the sight he saw. Jean-Paul looked like a different person. He was wedged in the small space between the tub and the toilet, wads of tissue thrown in the bowl.

He sat down too and rubbed Jean-Paul's leg as he continued to cry. He looked so young, then Walter did the math and realized he was in fact so young. He conviently ignored the fact that he was fucking a girl the same age.

"Do you want some tea, maybe some toast? I can go down and cook it." Walter didn't know what else to do so he made like his mum and offered food.

He watched Jean-Paul pull himself together; blow his nose and the like. The way he looked around the room made it seem as if he just realized where he was. Maybe he had.

Walter pondered what it would be like to lose so much already at that age. Four parents, now a fifth. And not much better in between those few people who gave love. Once when Jean-Paul was changing clothes Walter had asked about the pink triangular scars that littered his back. The young man had answered matter-of-factly that one of his foster dad's had beat him with the buckle end of a belt and left those marks. Walter had no reply to statements like that.

A soft voice took pulled Walt back from his dark thoughts. "Yes, I would like some tea. I will meet you down in the kitchen, d'accord?" He stood up and waited for the bigger man to leave the bathroom, anxious to be alone.

Walter struggled a little in the big restaurant kitchen, uncertain of where to look for something as simple as a toaster and tea cup. He banged around impotently until slim boy arrived to help. He looked a little better, his face shiny from being washed, a somewhat oversized UQAM alpine ski team sweatshirt with MARTIN lettered on it.

Silence hung between them somewhat awkwardly. The kettle whistled and saved them from standing around not looking at each other. Jean-Paul avoiding Walter's gaze because he knew how wrecked he looked, and Walter avoiding Jean-Paul's gaunt figure because he didn't want to embarrass him by scrutinzing too much.

They sat at one of the bistro tables in the window, the sun shined through the window appealingly, almost distractingly. It seemed misleading about what was really happening there.

Jean-Paul made a strained face after they sat then asked "Walter, why are you here?"

"Why am I here?" He wasn't sure why he was acting suprized. Of course he would wonder why he was here. It was highly irregular. He thought for a few moments then answered.

"Because I thought someone should be." He cold have elaborated but decided against it. Less is more.

A few breaths of silence. Then Jean-Paul looked at Walter with his electic blue eyes. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Did my sister send you?" The look of hope the flicked across the elfish face was almost as crushing as the grief it replaced.

"No... I just decided to when I heard what had happened. Do you want to tell me about it? Or I guess maybe about him? Why did you live here?"

"Raymonde offered me a home and a job. When he offered them I wasn't in much of a position to refuse. He helped start my ski career, finish high school, gave me a place to live... He was a nice man who simply wanted to help someone when he had the opportunity to." The last statement seemed defensive.

Walt thought about it and he supposed people might infer something dirtier. There was something suspect about a single older man adopting a strange, young man for no apparent reason. He tried to put on his most inviting and understanding face to encourage the frosty youth to talk more.

"Why were you homeless to begin with?"

"Because it was better to live on the street the some of the hellholes I called home. "

"Are foster homes really that bad?" Walter was genuinely curious.

"The ones I lived in were."

"So you were a pick pocket? But where did you sleep? I don't know, maybe I am just naive but I don't really see how a person could live being homeless here."

"I live with a prostitute named Lise. She felt bad for me. But if you are asking for a tutorial on getting by you can sleep all over the place, bus stops, metro, apartment hallways, jail." Slim fingers played with a piece of toast, crubling a corner of the crust on to the plate.

"Did you make much money doing that?" Walter supposed he should drop it, but was fascinatedtoo. Seeing this other side. Jean-Paul kind of had a shady past and it made him wonder.

"Enough."

"What did you do with the other stuff, like licenses and wallets?"

"Throw them away."

"Huh."

Jean-Paul looked at Walter like he was sizing him up for something. His expression suddenly changed as if he had come to some sort of a decision.

"I didn't just steal people's wallets."

Walter tread very carefully. He felt like Jean-Paul was trying to let him in for some reason, and it seemed very precarious at the moment.

"What else did you do?"

The young man licked his lips and looked out the window for a minute, his face unreadable.

"I used to mule drugs and hustle."

"Oh." Jean-Paul turned his face back to Walter, still unreadable.

Walt was at a loss. What do you say to that? I am sorry you had to whore yourself out just to get by, I am sorry that the world is such a horrible place that people would buy sex from homeless children. I am sorry that something happened to you that was so bad that you would rather live outside doing that then stay wherever you came from.

"Oh indeed." He got up and went into the kitchen again and came back with more hot water for his cup.

"Walter, don't do some fucking Anglo polite cop- out bullshit please. You wouldn't have asked if you didn't want to know, okay?"

"I... feel bad. And I did want to know. I still do." At this moment in time, Walter was exceedingly grateful that Jean-Paul was frank enough to give the queen a heart attack. To just cut through the bullshit made this whole thing seem almost worthwhile.

"I lived in about 5 or 6 foster homes after the Martin's died. Some where better than others. But I didn't want to be at any of them, so I was bad, they would get fed up and send me on. That was what I wanted, I don't know why. Anyway, the last one..."

Jean-Paul fiddled with the tea bag in the cup.

"The last was the worst, the guy, the dad would... mess with us, you know, make us go with him in the basement, and beat you up if you didn't do what he wanted."

Walt could see how hard this was, and tried to look neutral.

"And one day I decided I was going to fight back, that I wasn't going to let him. He beat me up real bad and... raped me while I was unconscious. And I just said "fuck it," it can't be worse out there then here. So I left."

"I lived with Lise for a year or so, and Raymonde saw me hanging around and he knew what I was doing. And he told me if I wanted to work in the restaurant I could live there." Jean-Paul smiled at something in the memory.

"I thought he wanted to be my daddy or something, but he really just wanted me to work and live there. It took me a long time to believe that and, so... here we are."

Now that he was done speaking, the tension drained out of the thin body and Jean-Paul slumped into his chair.

"I'm sorry." Walter said after a few moments of silence.

Jean-Paul nodded a little.

A few more breaths passed.

"Are you really going to leave Alpha Flight?"

This time he shrugged non-commitally, then looked at Walter.

"Do you want to go get something real to eat? I'm starving." Show and tell was over, Walter could sense his retreat. But he sensed something else that was a shred of something positive.

"Yeah, that would be good. Preferably nothing too gross." Walter replied with a smirk.

"I'll try." Jean-Paul flashed Walter an almost-to-goodness smile, then darted off upstairs to get dressed.

The older man sat, thinking for a few minutes. He decided that maybe Jean-Paul was going to be okay. He hoped so. He certainly hoped so. With a sigh he stood up and waited to go for breakfast.


End file.
